


slowly your hands grow numb

by frecklesshake (celle)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celle/pseuds/frecklesshake
Summary: Keith tries to rearrange a life. Life refuses, and so does Shiro.A story about grief and a love lost; and about how things that seem to be one way are sometimes another.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 11





	slowly your hands grow numb

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed, we die like women.

Keith hightails it from Iverson’s office and nobody tries to stop him. Not yet. He realizes something as blood slowly seeps to the surface of his knuckles and the blind fury subsides. He accidentally caught the desk at the end of the swing that sent Iverson flying back; blood drips from the gash on his hand as he makes his way to the hoverbike, clearly marking the route of his escape. There is nothing else to keep him here, not anymore.

Space is vast. There is no body. There is also no rescue mission, and the new simulation is a fucking joke. 

He thinks he hears someone yelling after him but he doesn’t stop walking. He is gearing up for a fight once he gets to the hangar, but the news either doesn’t travel as fast as he thinks, or it travels too fast and no one cares to stop him. Maybe they wrote him off before anyone could finish saying “pilot error.” People are whispering in small clusters around him, keeping their distance, but Keith knows the space between them and him is just an illusion. They are all either military personnel or in training for it, and sooner or later, an order will be issued to stop him. He knows he is almost out of time. 

The way the hoverbike sings under Keith’s fingers feels like home, almost soothing, until the blood drips down its side, red on red, waking him out of the trance. The hangar gate is open and he calls it serendipity. 

It’s early, the open space of the desert is full of bone-chilling wind and he wishes he had something else on instead of the standard issue Garrison uniform, the stark orange all the more garrish in the pale light of the morning sun. His hands are cold and he grips the handlebars tight, knuckles going white, fingers growing numb.

*

“We have been notified this morning that the new simulation protocol for a rescue mission in hostile environment has been implemented,” the officer says and Keith hears the other cadets whooping behind him. He rolls his eyes and the officer the name of which Keith can’t be bothered to remember sadly remembers his. “Cadet Kogane, you’re up first,” he says with a bright smile. “Cadet Pinero, Zeitler, you go with him.”

Keith settles into the pilot seat as the two people behind him find their spots. _Focus_ , he tells himself, breathing in. The simulation starts up and for the first few seconds Keith breathes, hands steady on the controls, but as soon as he starts diving for the planet, his chest seizes. He would recognize it anywhere. There is a loud, piercing noise in his head as he forces the simulation shuttle’s controls as far as they will go, then only buzzing. He undoes his safety harness and gets up to questions he can’t hear and the panicked sound of Pinero trying to stop the simulation from crashing.

He gets up on legs made of cotton, walks to the training cabin door to the sound of the alarms blaring. He turns to the exit and the bright red light illuminates his way. Simulation failure.

As he goes down the tunnel from the sim shuttle, he realizes his whole body is shaking. He clenches his fists and walks, not bothering to look around. This classroom is three sizes too small, with twenty pairs of too many eyes watching. He gains speed, just like the shuttle, and he is almost in front of the door when the asshole who put him there in the first place blocks his way. Keith doesn’t look up. He can barely see the outline of black, polished shoes in front of him.

“What’s that supposed to be, cadet?” the officer leers.

He should’ve known, Keith realizes. He just went through the worst two weeks of his life, and he should have known that this was coming. He takes a step back, breathing, _patience yields focus_ -

“Where is your bite now?” Keith’s fist clenches, starts shaking. “Gone with Shirogane?”

Everything turns a bit blurry after that.

*

He goes back, eventually, if only to hear the words of the official expulsion and change his clothes. 

As predicted, they do expel him. What is unexpected, however, is the damage he did to Iverson's face. Keith's stomach turns without any satisfaction when he sees the bandage, as the officer informs him that he does not deserve to see the skies as a soldier. _Insubordinate, volatile, violent_ rings in Keith's ears. Nobody says “it's not what he would've wanted” and Keith is thankful, at least for that. He can only imagine what's underneath Iverson's bandage. 

“Dismissed,” they say, and it's not a surprise. It's more of a goodbye than he got. Nothing in him breaks, if anything, some weight is magically lifted from his shoulders. “Vacate the assigned quarters by ten hundred hours tomorrow morning.”

He feels queasy, still, but something in him whispers, twisted, that it needed to be done. In the end, he deserves to be booted. He can't find it in him to care. All in all, he’s lucky that it’s an expulsion, not charges. Still, he doesn’t feel lucky.

He steals clothes the too-big clothes on instinct. They cannot boot him twice. 

*

An abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere is as good a place to hide as any. No one looks for him, of course; there is no-one left to look. 

The open no man’s land calls to him. It gives him a home where there is none, and Keith is grateful. He gives what he can in return. 

Life gets monotonous after that. At the Garrison, it seemed like all the routine was sucked out of the surrounding vicinity to concentrate there, but it was just an illusion. Outside, the only thing that seems to change in any way is the sucking feeling in his stomach. A growing numbness, a cold and unforgiving hurt. 

He works to quiet his mind. The money is bad, but he makes the crappy living work for him. He works to the point of his body protesting, arms no longer functioning when he wants to lift another box. People throw him dirty looks, whisper behind his back, it's almost like he's back at the Garrison. Back, before. He ignores it, and works.

He runs, to kill the numbness. He drives the hoverbike as far as he can, and the horizon calls to him to go and never to return, but Keith never yields. He resists the urge to leave everything behind, including the box of clothes he shouldn't have, a machine he has no business owning, and a mystery that slowly splays in front of him.

He accumulates the chemicals like he has an intended use for them, like it’s more than a mournful song that continues inside him, just like the one when he pilots.

*

The desert is desolate; they have that much in common. Even so, it seems to beguile him into exploring. It draws him out until he finds a cave filled with impressive bas-reliefs of a robotic lion. And then another. And another. All these places seem to buzz with some sort of energy that he cannot identify. It’s enough to keep him going. 

Keith always thought the last unknowable of the planet was the deep sea, but it’s not the first time he is caught proven wrong.

“An arrival,” he whispers, running his hand over the valleys carved in the stone. Something in him reverberates with the history of this place, whatever it is. The feeling hits too close to home, and it takes him two weeks to come back to the canyon. The pull is too strong to resist. He mulls over the idea of bringing the chemicals here and blowing everything up, but he must have pulled a muscle at work - a sharp ache tells him that he needs to try that some other time. He pretends to forget about it.

*

When the grief becomes unbearable he takes the last scrap of his savings and tattoos a small kanji just beneath his right collarbone. He relishes the pain; somehow, it makes it worth it. The stark black settles well into his skin and he can't help but think that this would be the name he was given; and that he himself is not noble, never was. The mark doesn't help as much as he thought it would. For as long as it's a wound, bleeding and unhealed, he can relate. Once he can look at it in the mirror every morning it loses its appeal. Keith runs his hand over the knuckles of the other, a tiny scar reminding him of how his previous life ended; that, too, was appealing until it healed.

Shiro’s absence is an open wound. Keith salts this ground like it is holy.

*

He is nowhere near being okay when something flies across the sky and crashes in his desert. He thinks, _this is it, this is what you have been waiting for_ , but the desert yields no answers and the voice inside him doesn’t respond. 

He is even less prepared for what he finds.

“Shiro?” he asks the unconscious body and feels like all of his organs are rearranging themselves to find space for this tangible feeling that's taking over his chest. He blinks away the tears that are starting to well up at the corners and cuts the bindings holding Shiro to the table. His mind supplies an uptick next to Shiro's name now, suggests a question Keith doesn't dare ask. This is enemy territory, he reminds himself.

This thing, it was supposed to be big, but not this big.

He doesn't look at Shiro too much, heaves him up instead, and this is a foreign weight. Uptick.

Three people barge in and one of them, tall and lanky, Lance, blabbers about their - his and Keith’s - rivalry and tells Keith that he is the one who’s saving Shiro. He doesn’t seem like a threat despite his constant blabbering, so Keith lets him help lift Shiro and carry him out to the hoverbike.

*

Shiro is too heavy to carry upstairs and Keith is afraid of hurting him anyway, so they lay him down to rest on the uncomfortable sofa in Keith’s shameful excuse of a living room/workspace. After that, he forces the rest to go and get some sleep before he can figure out this mess.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Pidge asks, but doesn’t look at him; he looks at Shiro instead. Keith narrows his eyes. 

“Yeah. Go before they take all the good spots,” Keith tells him good-naturedly. Pidge doesn’t look too happy, but nods and leaves.

Keith turns to Shiro, still unconscious, too large for the small sofa, and his brain fails him entirely. He’s still there a minute later, staring into space, carefully choosing to not think about anything in particular. Dreams always fall apart when you start thinking too much and he’s had this one one too many times. It’s dangerously close to becoming a nightmare. He’s knows that one just as well.

He fills two glasses with water and carries them to the makeshift coffee table. Keith is not a medic, he has no idea how long the drugs they gave Shiro will last. He can only wait them out, and what is another night.

Only the uncomfortable chair that he always keeps his notes and spare clothes on is left vacant, apart from the space on the couch where Shiro’s legs leave some room. He closes his eyes and breathes; settles down into the chair to look anywhere but the couch. He can’t. Not yet. His right collarbone seems to pulse hot red with a new sting.

*

Shiro startles them both awake. Keith opens his eyes to absolute darkness and wishes he could tell the time by its intensity, but everything always looks so different from the other side.

“Shiro,” he starts, and there is a gasp somewhere to his right. He waits a beat. And another. His heart has time to slowly make the hike up to his throat before Shiro speaks.

“I escaped. I have escaped. Please tell me this isn’t another trick,” Shiro says, and he sounds at the same time so frantic and so very tired. Keith knows that kind of tired, has carried it with him for months.

“Shiro,” he repeats, softer, pleading. _Please remember me_. His eyes don’t want to adjust to darkness. “What did you escape?” he clutches at the first question given to him, pushing the rest aside. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks, uncertain, like he just woke up from a long sleep that wasn’t just what the medics gave him. “Keith.”

“I’m here,” Keith says, slowly moving from the chair towards the voice. He can make out some shapes, knows more or less where the sofa is. “There is some water on the table if you-” he reaches the sofa before he can finish and Shiro pulls him in and wraps his arms around him.

“It really is you,” Shiro whispers into his hair and Keith regrets not taking a shower. He must smell of chemicals and burnt plastic and sweat and-

“Yeah. I’m here.” Not, _I have always been here_. “I'm here,” he repeats, trying to soothe Shiro’s ragged breathing. Keith is hyper aware of all the points where their bodies are touching, from thighs to shoulders and chins. Shiro is real and alive next to him, physical in a way he hasn't been for months outside the cold ghost of pain in Keith's chest. Keith inhales, and the smell of him is the same. The sudden feeling of comfort throws a punch that floors him and he limpens in Shiro's arms. Shiro gasps in surprise and holds him tighter to make up for the tension that's gone now.

“I've missed you,” Shiro says breathily, and Keith feels it in his hair, strands falling away and tickling his ears. He can't help but tense up again.

“Me too.” Not, _They told me you were dead_. Not, _I believed them_.

Keith disentangles himself from the hug even though Shiro tries to pull him back. Keith wants to scream that he's not going anywhere. He doesn't. Instead, he hands Shiro the glass of water he can now distinguish from the rest of the table, and downs his. 

“Go to sleep, Shiro. I’m gonna go take a shower.” Shiro looks like he's about to protest, but doesn't. 

“Okay,” Keith hears Shiro whisper on his way out. 

*

The bathroom is cramped and uncomfortable and Keith’s used to it. 

The first light of day starts shining through the small window, as he peels away the layers of dirty, rancid-smelling clothes. He is never touching ammonia again if he can help it.

The small shower cabin isolates him and Keith has never been more grateful for the small space.

The longing is still there, still splitting his soul in half. He has said goodbye. _Has he_? It took him weeks to understand that Shiro is not coming back. There wasn't enough time in the world to accept it, though. The universe seems to be playing him, again, and every time hits worse than the last. If Shiro really is back, he can be taken away again. Keith almost feels it, again, right then and there in his shitty shower, under water with pressure so shit it's barely a trickle. He almost feels his heart break.

He cries, tears mixing with water and disappearing, leaving no trace, like he is a stronger man than he is. Shiro is here, so very alive, and Keith has been given another chance to keep him safe.

He cleans himself with practiced efficiency and surrenders the clothes that don't belong to him. If they are more threadbare than Shiro remembers them, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't really say anything much.

*

It's curiosity that steers his feet outside, following the sound of doors closing quietly. The air is cold and his throat stings when he breathes in. Shiro looks beautiful and alive in the desert's morning sun.

“It's good to have you back,” Keith says, placing a hand on Shiro’s arm like nothing has changed. He looks different, Keith acquiesces. The hair is new and so very white; so is the scar. It’s not red and angry, but a muted pink. It’s had time enough to heal, unlike Keith.

“It's good to be back.”

Keith can’t not ask.

“So what happened out there?” He asks, and needs to take his hand off Shiro’s shoulder, knows and feels it shaking. “Where were you?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Shiro says, continues with some more details, but Keith only hears every third word or so. Shiro’s eyes on him are intense, focused, and Keith simultaneously wants Shiro to never stop looking at him and to never look at him again. “How did you know to come save me when I crashed?”

Keith doesn’t say _I’m sorry, I didn’t_ , instead, he says “You should come see this.”

*

“What have you been working on?” 

Keith explains. 

Shortly after, they end up inside a giant robotic blue cat piloted by the worst pilot Keith has ever seen. Then, they find the aliens and pass Kerberos like it's an inconvenient stop sign.

*  
The cockpit of the lion is not spacious. Keith ends up being pressed against Shiro a lot, and it's not entirely the fault of just the G force and Lance's horrendous piloting skills.

The metallic grey of Shiro's new robotic arm reminds him of the iodine he considered for the explosives. Only the memory of the drum-shattering blasts keeps him convinced that all of it, this, happened. _This is not _, Keith chants to himself, _a fever dream _.____

____He wants to touch the back of Shiro's robotic arm, see where it connects with his skin. He wants to know what happened; he wants to know the weight of Shiro's suffering and alleviate it. It's stupid to think he can; stupid to think that Shiro would want him to carry whatever weighs down his stupidly broad, unfamiliar shoulders. This Shiro doesn't fit the silhouette of a friend Keith once had, but he does. Shiro fits whatever place in his life Keith designs for him except for one; Keith's heart still yearns._ _ _ _

____*_ _ _ _

____They find a castle, which turns out to also be a spacecraft. Go figure. They find a ten thousand year old princess that doesn't look older than in her teens, and Keith really should stop being so surprised when they find out that Allura and Coran are the living remains of an incredibly technologically advanced civilization. One lion turns into five, and those turn into a giant robot straight out of old comic books. Or, they are supposed to._ _ _ _

____The event, whatever it was supposed to be, is bigger than finding Shiro. It took over ten thousand years to reform Voltron and yet, Keith still cannot upgrade the thought to the first class seat currently occupied by Shiro’s return._ _ _ _

____Shiro calls both him and Lance cadets, and something cold drops in Keith's stomach, coiling with familiar tendrils around his throat. The princess calls Shiro a born leader and the knots on Keith tighten. She says, _someone to follow without hesitation_ and the coldness in Keith's stomach flips._ _ _ _

____The Red Lion is missing and Shiro orders him to stay behind and locate it. And if he couldn’t still convince himself before, Shiro uses the one thing he always knew to work perfectly on Keith._ _ _ _

____The hand that lands on his shoulder is heavier, still human, still warm, but the weight is unfamiliar. Keith can’t help but think of standing in front of Shiro’s room at the Garrison, empty and devoid of life before it was given away to some hotshot thinking he can be a prodigy worthy of the space, the _new Shirogane. Keith comes back to himself, still hyper aware of the cold, of his painfully clenched jaw. He knows what comes next; he's been here once already.__ _ _ _

_____He wants to follow. He stays, because Shiro asks him to. He gives in; already breaking his promise. He stays, listless._ _ _ _ _

_____*_ _ _ _ _

_____“I won’t be gone for long. You won't even notice I'm not here,” Shiro tells him and Keith almost laughs in his face._ _ _ _ _

_____“Like that's possible,” Keith tells him; it comes out harsh, too close to an unspoken truth that always hangs between them these days, but Shiro doesn't back away or flinch. He just smiles that sad smile that infuriates Keith._ _ _ _ _

_____It’s unreasonable to feel so betrayed by something that was always going to be the goal, even if it isn’t his. It’s hard not to think about space as their destination._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith lifts himself off the mat where Shiro had him pinned until just a few seconds ago. Keith’s hand itches to grab the shock of light hair and bring Shiro down to him. He scratches his open palm; it’s the endorphins talking. He swallows around the thickness in his throat and doesn’t look up from his palm to where he knows Shiro is looking at him. Instead, he closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe._ _ _ _ _

_____Takashi Shirogane is breathtaking, and not just when his arm is a consistent pressure on Keith's esophagus. Keith doesn't want to know what Shiro's prolonged absence will do to him._ _ _ _ _

_____Shiro took him to show him the ship he'll be piloting to the end of the galaxy. Keith had to begrudgingly admit that it was magnificent, trying his best to ignore the weight of Shiro's arm around his shoulders and the heat emanating from his body pressed flush to Keith’s side._ _ _ _ _

_____“It's just big enough to fit your big burly shoulders,” Keith had told him, grinning._ _ _ _ _

_____“Good thing you're not coming with me, then. It could never fit us both.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I can't wait until Matt hears how you're offending his physique.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Matt acknowledges that if his survival hinges on physical ability, he is done for,” Shiro said, laughing._ _ _ _ _

_____“Don’t let yourself go when I'm gone,” Shiro says, pulling Keith away from his thoughts. He gets up and pulls a towel around his shoulders. “We’ll pick this up when I get back,” he adds and Keith can’t help but think he means more than their match._ _ _ _ _

_____*_ _ _ _ _

_____Shiro tells him “patience yields focus,” and they have to run. Keith does not appreciate the irony of the situation. He can't sense the lion and he has no idea how Shiro could've recognized any of the corridors, the Galra ship just seems to be one giant labyrinthine construct._ _ _ _ _

_____“Patience yields focus,” and Keith knows._ _ _ _ _

_____Things happen very quickly after that. First, he is shouting useless words at a giant robot that seems to not be interested in any kind of bonding, next, he opens an airlock door in order to call it a tactic when all it really is is just a free fall with a sinking feeling that the team will need another red paladin. It’s a very awkward moment he is glad no one is there to witness. How much air do these suits have anyway?_ _ _ _ _

_____Red saves him from the vast, dark void of space. Elation mixes with the sinking feeling of worry gnawing at his stomach. Shiro went off with Pidge once already, and they came back, so they can't be that bad of a team. His stomach churns. Last time, they weren't marching straight into the hands of people who kept Shiro locked away. He doesn't have time to focus on that, because Red is _magnificent_. There is a soft rumble in the back of his mind when he takes over the controls and pulls up. _ _ _ _ _

_____She's fast and responsive, everything the Garrison simulators weren't. Above all, she is real, powerful, and the only thing that's separating him from the vast nothingness of stars._ _ _ _ _

_____“You're beautiful,” Keith tells her and there is a satisfied purr in the back of his mind._ _ _ _ _

_____“Guys, we need to go, and fast,” Shiro announces over the comms and Green zooms past Keith._ _ _ _ _

_____In the end, they somehow manage to form Voltron and fight off Sendak. It's a hail Mary, and as most of those go, it leaves all of them exhausted, dripping with sweat and with just the vaguest feeling of horrified nausea at the back of their throats. Keith almost falls over when Shiro places a congratulatory pat lands on his back._ _ _ _ _

_____Turns out, the whole thing is a long-term contract. It's far from the worst news Keith has ever received._ _ _ _ _

_____*_ _ _ _ _

_____“Hey, you okay?” Keith asks, chasing after Shiro in a corridor._ _ _ _ _

_____“I'm fine, Keith,” Shiro says, pausing and turning to face him. Keith hates the way his mouth waters at the sight of Shiro’s biceps. He stares at the bulk of Shiro's shoulders and forgets that this was supposed to be a conversation, that he was supposed to contribute. “Are you sure you are okay?” Shiro asks and laughter bubbles in Keith's throat, threatening to get out. Keith squashes it, puts a hand out to touch Shiro to steady himself._ _ _ _ _

_____“Keith?” Shiro asks, brows knitted together. Like he’s the one to worry and Keith hasn’t taken over that title more than a year ago. Like he hasn’t made it his. In that moment, Keith realizes he is smiling despite himself, tries to school his expression and moves back, abruptly, when he realizes that he supported himself with a hand on Shiro's chest, somewhat lower than the shoulder he aimed for._ _ _ _ _

_____“Nothing, sorry, it’s nothing. It's just,” Keith starts. He waves his traitorous hand around like it somehow explains everything. Shiro lets out a short bark of laughter, rusty around the edges, unused, and Keith’s heart feels like someone put it in a vice. Shiro smiles at him, almost fondly._ _ _ _ _

_____“You should get some rest,” Shiro says, rubbing his neck with his right hand. Keith can't help but follow the movement with his eyes. Shiro keeps smiling, and Keith is taken aback by how closely the curve of his mouth resembles the smile Shiro gave him shortly before the launch. He’s coming home, all over again._ _ _ _ _

_____“Yeah, you too,” Keith tells Shiro after that, and Shiro nods._ _ _ _ _

_____“Goodnight, Keith,” he says and steers to wherever Coran instructed him his sleeping quarters are._ _ _ _ _

_____*_ _ _ _ _

_____He plans to sleep, he really does, but his head is filled with weird, fragmented thoughts, most of them about Shiro. He knows this kind of tired. Mind in the overdrive, asking to be put out of its misery._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith plays with his knife; what a good thing that he never owned a lot, there is nothing to miss that's been left behind. Almost nothing, because even if he exchanged his hoverbike for a giant machine cat, he's still going to miss it._ _ _ _ _

_____But Shiro; Shiro seems to be okay. Keith lets go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding since the announcement of the Kerberos mission launch. Shiro is alive. Keith is never going to get tired of the sound of that sentence. He died, but he is alive, and if Keith gets to touch him and make sure every day for the rest of his life, he will die happy._ _ _ _ _

_____That's the thing, though, isn’t it. Keith doesn't get to touch, not really. He runs his fingers down the side of the blade, his touch feather-light. He knows the lines of the blade like he knows Shiro. Like he used to know Shiro. Somehow, in all his grief, Keith has forgotten that Shiro was never what Keith had wanted him to be. What he still wants. But want has always been a dangerous thing in Keith's life, one he's learned to keep hidden. Compartmentalized._ _ _ _ _

_____He keeps running his fingers across the surface of the blade, but closes his eyes. The metal is cold and smooth under his fingertips and Keith lets himself wonder what it would be like to touch Shiro's arm, splay his fingers against it._ _ _ _ _

_____Even with his eyes closed, he keeps feeling like the Castle is watching him. It gets under his skin and itches; pinpricks of paranoia keep him high-strung. He slides the dagger under his pillow and settles in for the night._ _ _ _ _

_____“It's good to have you back,” Keith whispers to the cold fabric of his pillow and his empty room._ _ _ _ _

_____*_ _ _ _ _

_____Keith quickly learns that being a part of Voltron is frustrating. Allura takes to testing them all overzealously, without any regard for the state of the supposed team they are to make up. She might even be right, but Keith is far too tense to give her an excuse to run them through another round of an unnecessarily complicated friendship test they are bound to fail. Trust fall always leads to hard ground._ _ _ _ _

_____The quarters in the Castle feel a bit more like prison solitaries than grand rooms. It's nice to have privacy, but the spare design feels even less like home than his dust-covered desert house. For all the flourish of Allura’s dresses, the Castle feels hostile in its austerity. Keith lies down on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, colored by the dim turquoise of the Castle’s standby lights. He is exhausted, but his mind insists on wandering; the last thing he thinks about before going to sleep remains the same, despite the circumstances._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith wonders how Shiro is doing with their new accommodation. Keith supposes that the presence of beds is already an improvement to what Shiro had for the past year. Shiro has not mentioned his absence since finding Red, but if appearances are anything to go by, the Galra do not seem the type to spoil their prisoners, apart from the deadly, high-end prosthetics. Keith loathes to think of the price one in particular came with. He wonders whether Shiro has nightmares. If he didn't think about it before, after Shiro froze in the fight with a gladiator, he does. There was an alarm in Shiro's face that Keith has never seen before._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith's mind drifts, edging the thin line between sleep and consciousness. In the hazy space a thought pulls him in a direction he consistently tries to steer away from, but Shiro's physical presence is undeniable and Keith was always a willing tide, trying to kiss the shore. He allows himself to be pulled towards the familiar, a comfortable space where Shiro is a constant, steady presence next to him. He's been telling himself he shouldn't for so long that the defiance no longer registers, not after the centuries long grief. Keith touches the spot on his collarbone which bears the tattoo. It seems so stupid now, in retrospect; hindsight 20/20 for how simple it would be for everyone to find out what inappropriate sentiment he carries for their team leader._ _ _ _ _

_____Old habits die hard, an ancient saying says, tough, and this is a road Keith has walked before with enough self-imposed shame to fill another body to the brim. His hand slides from the collarbone lower, under the covers, grazes his stomach, and withholds. Keith sighs, and with closed eyes he focuses on the image of Shiro and how he is now, the only change to this routine, the body Keith imagines hovering over him broader, stronger, scarred maybe. It feels as wrong as ever to betray Shiro's trust like this, to imagine him wanting Keith as more than a friend. He imagines Shiro looking at him the way he usually does, but softer, and leaning in to kiss Keith._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith moves his hand from his stomach to rest on the mattress, twin to the other side, and pushes his back into the bed. Keith wonders whether Shiro would let him touch him. Shiro died; Shiro came back to life; Keith wants to touch him, still. In his mind, Keith tries to never wonder what his confession would be, and the Shiro in his mind always understands. Keith can almost feel a hand come up to the side of his neck, right where his jaw begins, fingers curling in and pulling on his hair. He breathes in, deep, eyes screwed shut. Keith wets his lips, imagines Shiro leaning in again, this time kissing him like he means it; like Keith is wanted just as much as he wants. And does he, for the sake of everything that was ever holy, does he._ _ _ _ _

_____“Keith,” Shiro says, after they part from the kiss. And it’s a cruel thing, a dangerous one, to think of a friend being so out of breath after kissing him, so warm against his body. Keith writhes on the bed, imagining Shiro pushing him slowly, gently, against a wall, kissing him. Keith exhales loudly when Shiro puts a knee between his thighs and slides his hands up Keith’s chest._ _ _ _ _

_____“Shiro,” Keith whispers, in his mind, out loud, full of reverence when Shiro takes Keith's face into his hands and kisses him in a way that makes Keith question whether he ever gained the ability to breathe._ _ _ _ _

_____“It’s so good to be back,” Shiro whispers into the side of his face and Keith’s breath hitches. “I’ve missed you so much,” Shiro continues, because there is nothing to lose here. He kisses and licks down the side of Keith’s neck, rubs his thumb on Keith’s lower lip._ _ _ _ _

_____Keith bites his lip and moves his hand-_ _ _ _ _

_____Alarmes blare, pushing Keith out of bed and out of the embrace of Shiro that’s only in his mind so fast he trips over his feet._ _ _ _ _

_____Can one miss something that never actually was?_ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't posted anything in ages, and this is more of an experiment thing for myself than anything else.
> 
> So, if you liked anything at all, please, let me know.


End file.
